


Second Hand Life (Specs)

by politics_and_prose



Series: This is my family; I found it, all on my own [4]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Ensemble-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 15:12:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17062136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/politics_and_prose/pseuds/politics_and_prose
Summary: Spec's first day at the lodging house.





	Second Hand Life (Specs)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if Specs' actual name is known, but I don't know it, so here's my take on how Specs got his name.

He stood in front of the newsboys’ lodging house, a suitcase in each hand and glasses sliding down his nose. He wrinkled his nose to try to push them up, but that only made them slip even closer to the edge. Sniffing, he lifted one arm and used his wrist to set his glasses back to rights.

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest. “Come on, Hank,” he muttered. “You can do this.”

“Ya gonna keep talkin’ ta’ yourself, kid?”

It was a boy with a strange voice and really curly blonde hair, thin and too tall for his pants, that spoke. The kid looked to be about his age, but dirtier and more world weary. He was leaning against the wall, an unlit cigar dangling from his fingers.

“Hi, I’m Henry,” he said as he put down a suitcase and held out his hand.

The blonde boy stared at him for a second, and then shook his head. “Nah. We got onea them already.”

“Got one of what?” he asked in confusion, picking his suitcase up again when it became obvious the kid wasn’t going to shake his hand.

“A Henry. Already got one.”

“Oh. Well, I suppose it’s a common name. You can call me Hank,” he shrugged. “My folks did. My dad’s name’s Henry too so …”

“You talk a lot,” the other boy said, drawling his words. “Ya here ta’ be a newsie?”

“Yes,” Hank answered. “My folks …” He trailed off, not really wanting to get into it but figuring he would have to tell it to someone sooner or later. “My pop’s in jail an’ my ma took off a long time ago.”

The kid eyed him for a moment before pushing away from the wall. “You’se tall,” he said with a frown, tilting his head up a bit to look at him.

Hank blinked. This kid was so nonchalant about the whole parents thing, which made him think that he didn’t have any either. Maybe he hadn’t for a long time. It was sad to think that so many of these kids were like him, without any family around. He thought some must have them and were just working for some extra income, but he was pretty sure most newsies were newsies because they didn’t have anyone else to look after them.

“I guess,” Hank answered. “Are there any openings here?” 

“Openins’?” the boy laughed. “If ya can pay th’ rent, sure. Four cent a night. Most fellas make it durin’ the day and run back ta’ pay between editions. We double bunk sometimes if we need to. ‘Specially when it’s cold.”

He nodded and pushed his glasses back up his nose again. They were just a little too big and he was sweating, an unfortunate side effect of him being so nervous.

Hank knew that being a newsie wasn’t going to be a job where he got rich and it definitely wasn’t glamorous, but it was a job he was pretty sure he could do. He wasn’t really all that coordinated and if anything happened to his glasses, he knew he wouldn’t be able to see well enough to work in a factory. Being a newsie was really his only option, aside from running and starving.

All in all, it was probably his best bet to survive.

“I can cover that,” Hank said, thinking of the two dollars he had in his pocket that he stole from his old man’s coffee can back home before he was kicked out by the greedy old landlord. The man cared more about a steady income than saving a kid without folks. He couldn’t blame the guy, really, but he could have given Hank a day or two after his pop was carted away.

“Then le’s go meet the fellas. I don’ think Skittery’s back yet but Blink is. An’ I think maybe Mush’s here.”

“Blink? Mush?”

“Yeah, ya know ‘em?” the blonde asked. “Oh, guess I forgot. Name’s Racetrack. Folks call me Race though.”

“Race?” Hank asked. All of the names seemed made up to him. Racetrack had said that there was already a Henry , but he hadn’t mentioned anyone by that name. Or any name, really. Just a bunch of nicknames.

Race hummed. “On accounta me goin’ ta’ Sheepshead so much. Let’s get in there.”

Hank nodded and followed Racetrack up the steps and into the small foyer of the newsboys’ lodging house. It was warm, even on a chilly fall day, and there was an old man standing behind the desk. He eyed Hank suspiciously but rolled his eyes when Race gave him a wink and led Hank into a slightly larger room with a few boys scattered around with dice and playing cards.

Racetrack brought his fingers to lips and let a loose whistle so loud that Hank almost dropped his suitcases to cover his ears. The boys all groaned and some waved the blonde off, ignoring him for a minute. Racetrack took a deep breath, presumably to whistle again, when one of the boys finally looked up.

“My hat! Race’s found a stray. Who’s’is?” asked a kid with curly hair poking out from under his hat and a slingshot in his hand.

Before Hank could answer, Racetrack looked over at him, nodded once, and said, “S’Specs. He’s gonna work wi’ us. If he can cut it.”

“Specs?” Hank asked, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “No, I’m …”

Before he could get his actual name out, the boys were all up and crowding around him, greeting him as Specs and shaking his hand, throwing a ton of questions at him. One grabbed his suitcases and said they’d take them upstairs, and Hank could have sworn he heard the kid mutter that he couldn’t wait to see what new stuff there was for the fellas in them.

“I … is it …?” 

“Calm down, Specs,” Race said with a grin. “We all share here. Mosta the fellas prolly won’t fit in ya stuff anyway. Just me, maybe Skits. Crutchie’ll probably take ya pants or socks if they’s big on accounta his leg.”

Hank could barely follow all of the conversations happening around him, his head spinning. He’d never been the center of attention like this before, never been in a group of people all trying to talk to him at the same time before, and he didn’t know what to do, who to answer and what order it was proper to do it in. Racetrack chuckled next to him and Hank got the feeling the kid did this on purpose. Maybe it was some kind of initiation.

“Hey, what’s going on in here?” a new voice called and the kids quieted down a bit. A new boy walked in, looked about to be the same age as Racetrack, maybe a bit older. He looked around the room and his eyes landed on Hank, a smile touching his lips. “Ah, a new kid. Hey, I’m Henry.”

Hank stood there for a second, taking in this Henry fella. He looked like he’d been a newsie, or at least on the streets, for a while. He was strong and a little dirty, his clothes a little ratty, and obviously had the respect of the other kids.

“Specs,” Hank replied, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you.”


End file.
